


Good Enough

by Coyote Grins (Inksinger), Inksinger



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Post-WotLK, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Issues, Undead, Warcraft Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Coyote%20Grins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Inksinger
Summary: For the prompt: "Thassarian/Koltira - Thassarian is a clueless farmboy."Set post-WotLK, in an AU where Sylvanas never kidnaps Koltira because Blizzard turned out to care about that plotline about as much as I care about stocks.





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme! OP requested: _"Thassarian grew up on a farm in the heart land of Lorderon and then when into the army... and then died. What I am saying is that this is not a man who would know how gay sex works._
> 
> _What I want is for Koltira and Thassarian to more or less have gotten past the "will he want me/not want me?" part and get stuck on Thass not having a clue how to do the do. Maybe he vaguely knows "dick goes in butt" and is all "how will that not hurt?" maybe with some "do you want to hurt me? I think maybe I deserve that"_
> 
> _Koltira's reaction to this cluelessness is more or less "how did I fall for such an idiot? Is undeath not torment enough?"_

“You're _kidding.”_

The words came out sounding more like an order than anything else - as though Koltira was not so much hoping Thassarian was just pulling his leg as he was demanding it. The scathing look in the elf’s eyes certainly didn't take the edge off the situation, either.

“You grew up on a _farm,”_ Koltira reminded him. Long nails pricked at Thassarian's chest as the elf flexed his hands irritably. “You served in an army comprised entirely of _men._ How do you not understand how this--” and for a moment Thassarian was very, very distracted by the way Koltira's thigh slid up and forward between his legs, bringing the elf’s hips flush with his own, “--works?”

“Are you implying I fucked the cows?” Thassarian asked, falling back on dry humor in an attempt to regain something resembling control over this situation. Judging by Koltira's raised eyebrow, he failed on all accounts.

“What about the army, then?” Koltira asked, refusing to dignify Thassarian's comment with any further response.

“There were _at least_ five women who snuck into the ranks at various points,” Thassarian said. “Likely there were more who never got caught.”

Koltira snarled and dug his nails down into Thassarian's chest until they broke the skin with a series of quick, dim flashes of pain. Ichor bubbled up around Koltira's fingertips, staining his pale skin plum red as he scowled at Thassarian.

“It was still _largely_ male, yes?” And the last word the elf spoke came out as a livid hiss between sharp teeth.

“Yes,” Thassarian answered. “But I was eighteen when I joined. None of the older soldiers wanted to sleep with a green punk, and the other recruits didn't seem to care much for--”

Koltira leaned forward and let his head fall against Thassarian's shoulder with an incredibly beleaguered sigh.

“…Have you _at least_ had sex with a woman?” the elf asked after a minute.

Thassarian thought for a moment. “There were definitely a few… racy moments before I joined the army.”

“How racy.” That was probably meant to have been a question.

“I think once I managed to get a hand up someone's skirt before we were caught,” Thassarian answered. That had been when he was fifteen or sixteen. It was the farthest he had ever managed to get, both with that particular girl and in general.

Koltira snorted and shook himself away from Thassarian in a manner that reminded the human of a cat sputtering away from an unexpected splash of water.

“You're a _virgin?”_ Koltira demanded.

“You could sound a little less offended by the idea,” Thassarian grumbled. “It isn't as though I made any conscious decision not to have sex.”

“You were _forty_ when you died,” Koltira said.

“I was thirty-six, actually,” Thassarian responded. Now he was beginning to feel more than a little nettled.

“We were together for _years_ before this.”

Koltira gestured along the length of his own body with a sharp downward wave of one hand. He didn't need to explain himself; they both knew what _this_ was.

“Well," Thassarian said, "I'm sorry that I never felt comfortable trying to lose my virginity in a forest full of elves who probably wouldn't have tolerated me as well as you did.”

Koltira had flung him into a tree the first time they had met. Multiple times in a row, if memory served. Thassarian had heard him claim to be tame for an elf frequently enough to have been quite sure, as a mortal, that any other elf would have skinned him on sight - and then cut his throat to make him stop screaming.

Koltira opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and then closed it again with a quick grumble in Thalassian that sounded less than complimentary. His hands flexed again, gouging Thassarian's already punctured chest as the elf closed his eyes and regrouped.

“You never told me,” Koltira finally said. His voice was low now, and no longer indignant so much as very, very serious.

Thassarian winced.

“It… never came up,” he said, carefully bringing his hands up to stroke the length of Koltira's upper arms. “We never took it that far. We never talked about how experienced either of us was.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted them - the last was untrue, he recalled dimly, and he could see by the look in Koltira's eyes that the elf remembered as much, too.

“We discussed _my…_ ‘experience’ quite often,” Koltira said. “Usually in raised voices, if memory serves.”

Thassarian opened his mouth, ready to scramble and fumble his words aloud so that Koltira could at least hear him _attempt_ to answer the accusation there - but the elf’s eyes sharpened dangerously, and his nails dug into Thassarian this time with a deliberate viciousness that silenced him before he could get out a single syllable.

“I waited,” Koltira told him - quietly, almost conversationally, but the words came out in a seething hiss through clenched teeth and lips that scarcely moved. “I waited for _three years,_ Thassarian. There was _never_ anyone else. I had _no_ outlet - I turned down everyone else who expressed any interest until no one did at all. I waited for you to be secure enough, to trust me enough to lay together… and you never told me _why_ that must be.”

Koltira's eyes blazed, twin flecks of arctic ice caught in the same stray beam of sunlight. No breath feathered across Thassarian's skin; now that he had said his piece, it seemed Koltira was uninterested in pretending to breathe. For one who so stubbornly clung to the memory of his own mortality, that was a deeply troubling sign.

A long, unbearable moment passed before Koltira stirred again, drawing only enough breath to say: “You could have told me.”

The words knifed through Thassarian more keenly than a newly forged saronite blade, and the weight of the bitterness that followed could have pinned him against the wall even if Koltira hadn't still been pressed against him. It was a burden at once numbing and needle-sharp, heavier than solid stone… and not even a fraction, he was sure, of what it must be for the one who had carried it in stubborn silence for all these many years.

His hands moved of their own accord, slow and hesitant as they slid upwards over Koltira's shoulders and along his deceptively lithe neck (lithe, and yet there was no softness to it, no fleshy give when his thumbs pressed into the cold skin there - Koltira was not a soft creature, and undeath had not robbed him of the steel-strong cords of muscle rippling through every inch of him.)

Koltira shied back from Thassarian as the human's hands slid higher still, calloused palms only barely skimming across the line of his jaw. Rather than reach forward, Thassarian let him pull away, keeping his hands where they were when the contact was broken and meeting Koltira's steely gaze unflinchingly.

A moment passed - and Thassarian lowered his hands again, resting them once more atop Koltira's arms. A line had been drawn and crossed; if nothing else, Thassarian knew when it was time to back off.

Koltira closed his eyes and drew a quiet breath through his nose. Thassarian knew Koltira well enough to drop his hands and stay put when the elf shoved away from him a moment later - ungently, but without the viciousness that usually accompanied Koltira's fouler moods.

There were no words as Koltira tugged his tunic back into place. There were no shared glances when he tossed Thassarian's own shirt back to him from where it had been thrown to the floor.

There were no apologies; Koltira scarcely gave Thassarian time to think of anything to say before he slipped back outside, prowling as quietly as a lynx across the newly fallen snow.

Thassarian dragged a hand over his face and growled to himself, glowering through one dust-caked window at the frosty night outside.

 _Thrice-damned fool,_ he cursed himself. Then he shoved away from the wall and headed towards the little kitchen in search of ale.


End file.
